


You Feel So Lonely You Could Die

by Straight_Outta_Hobbiton



Category: Bleach
Genre: I literally don't have time to write happy endings, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nothing Is Resolved and Everything Hurts, Trigger Warning: Too Much Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 13:11:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14812016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton/pseuds/Straight_Outta_Hobbiton
Summary: The local theater is putting on a play. Kisuke’s there for the star more than the show.





	You Feel So Lonely You Could Die

_ He’s too young. _

 

The thought crosses Kisuke’s mind almost idly as he settles into his seat, dressed in a plain gray suit and tie and still carrying his torn ticket to the community theater’s performance of  _ Hamlet. _

 

Ichigo’s too young, and too beaten, besides, broken by war and the machinations of two mad men, but here Kisuke is anyway, seated in a cramped little theater, waiting for the lights to dim and the curtains to open and reveal an orange-haired Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, returning home to attend his father’s funeral.

 

(It was pure chance that had Kisuke wandering by the theater not a month earlier to see his former student’s face plastered across the wall. Judging by the decided lack of other Kurosakis in the audience, he can only assume Ichigo hadn’t actually mentioned to anyone that he was starring in a play.)

 

He’s too young, much too young, but Kisuke wants him anyway, wants his fire and his fury and his soft, kind smiles that so far Kisuke has only seen him bestow on his sisters and— on occasion— Rukia. He wants those smiles for himself, just as much as he once wanted (and was denied) the attentions of Yoruichi.

 

(He’d never gotten the courage to tell Yoruichi, either, but she’d known. That’s probably why she let him catch her with more than her fair share of lovers, back when they were young.)

 

Eventually, his love for Yoruichi had evolved into something more comfortable— it hadn’t faded, no, he still loved her as much as a man like him could love anyone— but the passion he’d felt for her had waned, leaving behind a simple friendship, eternal and perfect in its own way.

 

(Kisuke was always meant to walk alone. He’s known it for as long as he can remember.)

 

Music begins to play, slow and sorrowful, and the theater settles into silence as the curtains rise, revealing two men wearing shiny, plastic armor.

 

_ “Who’s there?” _

 

_ “Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself.” _

 

_ “Long live the king!” _

 

_ “Bernardo?” _

 

_ “He.” _

 

Ichigo loves Shakespeare. He can quote most of his works, his favorites in English as well as Japanese. On the single occasion where Kisuke had thrown caution to the wind and allowed the teenagers who were going to save the world get drunk in his basement, Ichigo had stood up and recited Mercutio’s Queen Mab speech, slurring and stumbling as he exaggerated every line, a wide, mischievous grin on his handsome face. If Kisuke were to trace the path of his attraction back to its origin, it would likely lead back to that night, just a few weeks before the war he’d been planning for nigh on a century came to fruition.

 

Kisuke doesn’t notice the scene change from soldiers to kings and queens and colorful courtiers, not until the prince himself steps onto the stage, dressed in black and looking pale.

 

_ “How is it that the clouds still hang on you?” _

 

_ “Not so, my lord—”  _ Ichigo peers around the stage, eyes lingering on the pinks and golds of the ladies’ dresses, his face the picture of elegant displeasure.  _ “I am too much i’ the sun.” _

 

It’s fitting, Kisuke thinks as the queen speaks, that Ichigo should star in a tragedy. He’s a tragic hero himself, a martyr to something that, even now, he probably doesn’t fully understand. Certainly Kisuke’s never explained, and Isshin… probably isn’t smart enough to explain, even if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t. He never did.

 

Ichigo is speaking again. Kisuke pauses to listen.

 

_ “... ‘Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, nor customary suits of solemn black.”  _ Ichigo runs a hand over his chest almost absently.  _ “Nor windy suspiration of forced breath, nor the fruitful river in the eye, nor the dejected ‘havior of the visage, together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief, that can denote me truly: these indeed seem, for they are actions that a man might play: But I have that within which passeth show, these but the trappings and the suits of woe.” _

 

Shinigami uniforms have always been black, since the beginning of the Gotei. In the west, it’s the color of death and mourning. Kisuke’s never seen Ichigo wear the color outside of battle— he’s always preferred happy colors.

 

_ “‘Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, To give these mourning duties to your father…” _

 

Isshin says that Ichigo will be fine, once he settles back into routine. Kisuke’s not so sure, but he’s not exactly in a position to refute the man, either— he’s not Ichigo’s father. No, he’s just the idiot scientist responsible for most of the mess that Ichigo found himself in the middle of, the man who single-handedly ruined the life of a teenaged boy who only wanted to do what’s right, who understood _ duty  _ and  _ obligation _ better than any soldier Kisuke had met to date, the man who _ knew  _ what might happen when he threw the object of his affections at Aizen and did it anyway.

 

Ichigo is young, yes, but that ranks pretty low on the list of reasons that Kisuke should stay far, far away from him. 

 

Ichigo is alone on the stage, now, his movements sharp with anger.

 

_ “Oh, that this too too solid flesh would melt, thaw and resolve itself into a dew! Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd His canon 'gainst self-slaughter!”  _ His face contorts, a wild, desperate sorrow cracking his words. _ “Oh God! God! How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, seem to me all the uses of this world!” _

 

That’s real, Kisuke notes dimly, watching as real tears begin to form at the corners of Ichigo’s eyes, glittering under the harsh lights of the stage. That misery that tears itself from Ichigo’s throat is raw and real, echoing through the theater on the power of Ichigo’s lungs alone.

 

Kisuke can _ try  _ to fix that, at least. He’s been working at it for months, now, working and reworking his plan until he’s sure it will work, that it will give Ichigo the peace of mind, at least, in  _ knowing _ that he can help, that he can make sure his sisters are safe when his dad’s too busy goofing off and keeping secrets.

 

He’ll be able to see Rukia again, Kisuke thinks, heart clenching. And maybe that’ll help the things that Kisuke’s too inept to heal. She’s always been obvious when it came to her regard for Ichigo, and surely he feels something for her, too— he wouldn’t have turned the Seireitei on its head to save her, otherwise.

 

It’s not like there’s any reason for Ichigo to entertain any advances Kisuke might make. He’s not stupid, by any means, but he hasn’t noticed Orihime practically _ throwing _ herself at him, big eyes and sweet smile and delicate, rosy blushes, let alone the occasional glance or unnecessary invasion of space Kisuke likes to indulge in. There’s half a chance he wouldn’t even realize Kisuke was courting him even if he did try to make it obvious— Kisuke would certainly have that kind of luck. Anyway, Ichigo doesn’t seem the type, honestly, that tends to go for Kisuke. He’s too handsome and too practical and none too fond of enigmatic smiles and deep, dark secrets, both of which are things Kisuke has developed into something of an art.

 

Not real art, obviously. Real art is happening on the stage, with actors and costumes and beautiful people saying beautiful things.

 

Ichigo. Obviously, Kisuke’s talking about Ichigo, specifically. The boy he thinks he might love and most definitely should leave be, because Kisuke is a lot of things, and _ good for Ichigo _ is probably not one of those things.

 

He doesn’t like where that train of thought is going, he doesn’t like it at all. Mouth pinching, Kisuke forces himself to pay attention to the play.

 

He can wallow in self-pity later.

  
  


*.*

  
  


“How do you do that?”

 

Rin, the girl who plays Ophelia, is standing in the doorway when Ichigo looks up from his copy of Hamlet, words dying mid-line as he loses concentration.

 

“Do what?” he asks, straightening.

 

Rin shrugs, stepping into his changing room like she belongs there.

 

“That thing,” she says. “With your voice. You always sound like you’re actually going to cry. I've had a coach since I was _seven,_ and I'm not even that good.”

 

Ichigo looks down at the script in his hand. It’s become a habit, to practice his lines after shows (and before shows, and during intermission… you get the idea), even though he’s known them by heart since before he thought to audition for the role. Most people have learned to leave him alone when he gets into it— it doesn’t do him any good to break his stride once he gets going, and anyway, practice makes perfect— but Rin’s different. Rin doesn’t give a fuck.

 

“Well,” he says slowly, dog-earing the corner of his page and shutting the book. “I think of something miserable, and then I think of a way to apply it to whatever I’m supposed to say, and then, I say it.” He gives her a small, decisive nod, spreading his hands wide. _ “Acting.” _

 

Rin arches an eyebrow.

 

“Seriously?” she asks, unimpressed. “That’s like, the first thing any acting coach’ll tell you— ‘draw from your own experiences, tap into those emotions.’ Like, what do you even think about?”

 

A blond man with an ugly hat who Ichigo should probably hate but would probably give up what’s left of his soul just to talk to again. Stupid jokes and secrets and heartfelt apologies that Ichigo doesn’t need. Warm hands catching him before he can hit the ground.

 

Ichigo opens his mouth.

 

“Nothing important.”

**Author's Note:**

> I think Ichigo had to fill up a lot of free time after his friends abandoned him. He probably met Unagiya and got his job because she was doing some stage crew work for the show.


End file.
